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Title: In Bloom
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Word Count: 1725
Warnings: Sex Pollen
Notes: Written for this prompt at the kink meme. Unbeated rough draft. Almost entirely porn, which is not really my forte.
They’re locked in some sort of greenhouse. It’s hot and muggy, and while the scent of fresh dirt and growing plants is almost comforting, McCoy can’t help but be annoyed. Who knew that a visit to a planet of space hippies could go wrong? Well, he did actually, since he went on every mission, no matter how harmless, with the full expectation that it would somehow go horribly wrong.
In this case, it was because this peaceful commune planet was involved in some illegal growing that they didn’t want the Federation to know about. Unfortunately, he and Spock had discovered it, and been discovered. Now they were locked in with mysterious plants of questionable legality and McCoy had had enough.
“Why the hell did I ever think this would be a good idea,” he muttered to himself.
Spock, as impassive as ever, didn’t answer for once. Either he had finally grasped rhetorical questions, or he was annoyed enough with the situation that he wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be oblivious to human conventions. McCoy always suspected it was Spock’s way of messing with them anyway. No one that smart could spend that much time around humans and still fail to grasp simple idioms and speech patterns.
It’s so hot in here. He can feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He settles back against a table covered in plants – large, leafy things, with enormous blue and purple blooms. If McCoy was feeling a bit less trapped, he might care more about how his shifting and jostling seems to be creating a small cloud of thick, sticky pollen. It floats down, covering him in a fine layer, sticking to his sweaty skin, causing a faint shimmer.
Spock looks at him, looks at the plants, and sort of, almost frowns. “Doctor, perhaps you should consider moving away from the plants. As we currently have no way of identifying them, we have no way of determining any effects they might have on us.”
“It would be just my luck to be allergic,” McCoy complains, moving to a spot that’s as far from any plants as he can get. Unfortunately, this puts him in much closer proximity to Spock.
Maybe he’s just imagining it, but it seems to have become even hotter. He can feel his skin flushing, and his heart is racing – the thudding rush of his own blood seems to be the only sound he can hear.
He pulled the collar of his tunic away from his neck, trying to get a little more air. Spock is standing so close, and when did he get so close? Had he moved? Had Spock? The world seemed a little fuzzy around the edges, and he wondered for a moment if he really was allergic to those plants, before all rational thought seemed to evaporate from his mind like droplets of water on sizzling summer asphalt.
He was hard, painfully hard and he was panting like he had just run a sprint. He vaguely noted that Spock was looking at him oddly, well as oddly as one could look with barely discernable facial expressions. It was the last thing he even sort of noticed before he attacked.
He was kissing Spock desperately, his tongue thrusting in to that hot Vulcan mouth. He could hear himself moan, a low vibration of sound that Spock seemed to like if the hardness rubbing against him was any indication. He rubbed back, needing more friction, needing more. He drew back, long enough to get his breath and to tug frantically at Spock’s shirt. He succeeded in pulling it off before diving back in to another kiss, sloppy, wet, but so damn good. He needed this.
He went after Spock’s pants with single minded determination, but his hands were frustratingly clumsy. He growled at them, as if it would frighten them in to cooperation, and then Spock’s hands were there, deft and sure, pulling his pants open, pushing them down along with underwear.
McCoy dropped to his knees, his mouth watering at the sight of Spock’s cock, hard and there and just what he wanted. He wrapped his hand around it, firmly enough to prevent its escape and licked, sucked, worshipped its length, until Spock’s fingers were twisting in his hair, his hips rolling forward, thrusting into McCoy’s mouth. McCoy’s whole existence was centered on the cock he was sucking and the growing desperation he could feel rising with each thrust.
He pulled back and looked up as Spock, barely able to see him as he gasped. “Fuck me. God, I need it. Please.” He would have been embarrassed by his begging if his entire mind wasn’t focused on the desire to be filled, to be fucked.
He fumbled with his pants, finally managing to push them out of the way, and he may have lost a button, and possibly torn his underwear, and where was Spock, where had he gone? He moaned in frustration, until he felt hot hands on his back, pulling his shirt off, bending him over until he was on his hands and knees, thrusting futilely at the air.
There were fingers rubbing at his hole, pressing in, slick and too gentle and not enough. He whined, pushing back trying to get more. “More,” he gasped. “Please, god, more.”
He could feel Spock nudging against him, and he relaxed until he felt himself breeched by the thick head. It hurt, but he needed it. He wanted more, and he moved back until Spock was sliding deeper.
Spock’s hand was gripping his hip hard, and he pulled McCoy back and he thrust forward. “Yes, oh fuck,” McCoy moaned, and shifted, trying to get Spock to move. Spock apparently took the hint, and set a rhythm, hips pumping smoothly, filling McCoy and pulling back. He tried to move back, tried to get Spock to go harder, faster, but he was held firmly in place by Spock’s hand on his hip. “Please, please, please,” he begged, until Spock was pulling him up by the hair, pushing up into him with short, hard strokes.
Gravity was on his side now, and he could sink until he was filled, press down until he got what he needed. His cock was so hard, and he grabbed it, stroking himself. He was so close, so close. Then Spock’s mouth was on his neck, biting and he felt the hot pulse of semen and it was enough, finally enough.
He came with a groan, his orgasm burning its way out of his body, until his eyes shut and everything was dark.
**
He came to in the sterile brightness of the medical bay. He hurt everywhere. His ass was sore, his skin felt raw, and his hip was definitely bruised and painful. He blinked, trying to adjust to the light. What the hell had happened?
He could hear the vague murmuring of voices outside the curtain, and he focused trying to get his groggy brain to get with the program.
“Well, you’re lucky that whatever that plant was didn’t affect you,” Nurse Chapel was saying. “Doctor McCoy is probably going to be out of commission for a few days because of it. We had a hell of a time trying to find something that would counteract all that pollen in his system.”
McCoy grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it as the memories came flooding back. Jesus Christ, he thought. Thank god it’s Chapel treating this. At least she can keep her mouth shut. He wondered if it would be possible to avoid Spock for the next four years, because this was just embarrassing. He may have had the idle thought about fucking the first officer, but being forced to act on it due to crazy alien sex pollen was just too much.
Someone, he assumed Spock, was answering, although he couldn’t quite make out the words.
“No, it will be fine. Just a little allergic reaction. Rub the cream on the affected area until the rash goes away. And next time, be more careful about what you use for lubricant. You’re lucky it wasn’t something more hazardous.”
Someone was clearing their throat next to him, and he peered out from behind his pillow. He should have known it would be Spock. He looked up at the Vulcan for a moment before removing the pillow with a sigh.
“Listen Spock. I’m sorry. I have no idea what the hell came over me,” he said.
Spock shifted uncomfortably before answering. “Apologies are unnecessary. You were not in control of your actions.”
He was still standing there, and McCoy wasn’t sure what more needed to be said. He’d apologized. Spock had accepted in his way. Weren’t they finished now?
It took Spock another minute before he spoke again. “I should apologize,” he started. “While you were under the effects of a chemical induced lust, I was unaffected. I’m afraid that I took advantage of your altered state. I have not made a full report to the Captain yet, but if you feel the need to file a formal complaint about my actions, I will understand.” He was not making eye contact as he finished, and that was unusual enough that it took McCoy a moment to catch up with what had been said.
“Nah,” he said. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t know what else you could have done with me in that state.” He did actually. Spock could probably have just done that neck pinch thing and knocked him out. “No real harm done, right?”
Spock nodded slightly, and looked relieved, or at least somewhat less tense.
Later, McCoy wasn’t sure where he’d got the nerve from. He reached out and grabbed Spock’s hand. “Would you consider giving it another go sometime? Without the chemical induced lust.”
Spock stared down at their joined hands for a moment before twining their fingers together. “That would be acceptable.” He lingered for a moment, before pulling away. “I will go make my report to the Captain and let him know that you are recovering.”
McCoy could only smile as he settled in to go back to sleep. Alien sex pollen to get a date. Well, he’d heard of worse ways.
Still, maybe it would be a good idea to avoid away missions for awhile. Just in case.
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Word Count: 1725
Warnings: Sex Pollen
Notes: Written for this prompt at the kink meme. Unbeated rough draft. Almost entirely porn, which is not really my forte.
They’re locked in some sort of greenhouse. It’s hot and muggy, and while the scent of fresh dirt and growing plants is almost comforting, McCoy can’t help but be annoyed. Who knew that a visit to a planet of space hippies could go wrong? Well, he did actually, since he went on every mission, no matter how harmless, with the full expectation that it would somehow go horribly wrong.
In this case, it was because this peaceful commune planet was involved in some illegal growing that they didn’t want the Federation to know about. Unfortunately, he and Spock had discovered it, and been discovered. Now they were locked in with mysterious plants of questionable legality and McCoy had had enough.
“Why the hell did I ever think this would be a good idea,” he muttered to himself.
Spock, as impassive as ever, didn’t answer for once. Either he had finally grasped rhetorical questions, or he was annoyed enough with the situation that he wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be oblivious to human conventions. McCoy always suspected it was Spock’s way of messing with them anyway. No one that smart could spend that much time around humans and still fail to grasp simple idioms and speech patterns.
It’s so hot in here. He can feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He settles back against a table covered in plants – large, leafy things, with enormous blue and purple blooms. If McCoy was feeling a bit less trapped, he might care more about how his shifting and jostling seems to be creating a small cloud of thick, sticky pollen. It floats down, covering him in a fine layer, sticking to his sweaty skin, causing a faint shimmer.
Spock looks at him, looks at the plants, and sort of, almost frowns. “Doctor, perhaps you should consider moving away from the plants. As we currently have no way of identifying them, we have no way of determining any effects they might have on us.”
“It would be just my luck to be allergic,” McCoy complains, moving to a spot that’s as far from any plants as he can get. Unfortunately, this puts him in much closer proximity to Spock.
Maybe he’s just imagining it, but it seems to have become even hotter. He can feel his skin flushing, and his heart is racing – the thudding rush of his own blood seems to be the only sound he can hear.
He pulled the collar of his tunic away from his neck, trying to get a little more air. Spock is standing so close, and when did he get so close? Had he moved? Had Spock? The world seemed a little fuzzy around the edges, and he wondered for a moment if he really was allergic to those plants, before all rational thought seemed to evaporate from his mind like droplets of water on sizzling summer asphalt.
He was hard, painfully hard and he was panting like he had just run a sprint. He vaguely noted that Spock was looking at him oddly, well as oddly as one could look with barely discernable facial expressions. It was the last thing he even sort of noticed before he attacked.
He was kissing Spock desperately, his tongue thrusting in to that hot Vulcan mouth. He could hear himself moan, a low vibration of sound that Spock seemed to like if the hardness rubbing against him was any indication. He rubbed back, needing more friction, needing more. He drew back, long enough to get his breath and to tug frantically at Spock’s shirt. He succeeded in pulling it off before diving back in to another kiss, sloppy, wet, but so damn good. He needed this.
He went after Spock’s pants with single minded determination, but his hands were frustratingly clumsy. He growled at them, as if it would frighten them in to cooperation, and then Spock’s hands were there, deft and sure, pulling his pants open, pushing them down along with underwear.
McCoy dropped to his knees, his mouth watering at the sight of Spock’s cock, hard and there and just what he wanted. He wrapped his hand around it, firmly enough to prevent its escape and licked, sucked, worshipped its length, until Spock’s fingers were twisting in his hair, his hips rolling forward, thrusting into McCoy’s mouth. McCoy’s whole existence was centered on the cock he was sucking and the growing desperation he could feel rising with each thrust.
He pulled back and looked up as Spock, barely able to see him as he gasped. “Fuck me. God, I need it. Please.” He would have been embarrassed by his begging if his entire mind wasn’t focused on the desire to be filled, to be fucked.
He fumbled with his pants, finally managing to push them out of the way, and he may have lost a button, and possibly torn his underwear, and where was Spock, where had he gone? He moaned in frustration, until he felt hot hands on his back, pulling his shirt off, bending him over until he was on his hands and knees, thrusting futilely at the air.
There were fingers rubbing at his hole, pressing in, slick and too gentle and not enough. He whined, pushing back trying to get more. “More,” he gasped. “Please, god, more.”
He could feel Spock nudging against him, and he relaxed until he felt himself breeched by the thick head. It hurt, but he needed it. He wanted more, and he moved back until Spock was sliding deeper.
Spock’s hand was gripping his hip hard, and he pulled McCoy back and he thrust forward. “Yes, oh fuck,” McCoy moaned, and shifted, trying to get Spock to move. Spock apparently took the hint, and set a rhythm, hips pumping smoothly, filling McCoy and pulling back. He tried to move back, tried to get Spock to go harder, faster, but he was held firmly in place by Spock’s hand on his hip. “Please, please, please,” he begged, until Spock was pulling him up by the hair, pushing up into him with short, hard strokes.
Gravity was on his side now, and he could sink until he was filled, press down until he got what he needed. His cock was so hard, and he grabbed it, stroking himself. He was so close, so close. Then Spock’s mouth was on his neck, biting and he felt the hot pulse of semen and it was enough, finally enough.
He came with a groan, his orgasm burning its way out of his body, until his eyes shut and everything was dark.
**
He came to in the sterile brightness of the medical bay. He hurt everywhere. His ass was sore, his skin felt raw, and his hip was definitely bruised and painful. He blinked, trying to adjust to the light. What the hell had happened?
He could hear the vague murmuring of voices outside the curtain, and he focused trying to get his groggy brain to get with the program.
“Well, you’re lucky that whatever that plant was didn’t affect you,” Nurse Chapel was saying. “Doctor McCoy is probably going to be out of commission for a few days because of it. We had a hell of a time trying to find something that would counteract all that pollen in his system.”
McCoy grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it as the memories came flooding back. Jesus Christ, he thought. Thank god it’s Chapel treating this. At least she can keep her mouth shut. He wondered if it would be possible to avoid Spock for the next four years, because this was just embarrassing. He may have had the idle thought about fucking the first officer, but being forced to act on it due to crazy alien sex pollen was just too much.
Someone, he assumed Spock, was answering, although he couldn’t quite make out the words.
“No, it will be fine. Just a little allergic reaction. Rub the cream on the affected area until the rash goes away. And next time, be more careful about what you use for lubricant. You’re lucky it wasn’t something more hazardous.”
Someone was clearing their throat next to him, and he peered out from behind his pillow. He should have known it would be Spock. He looked up at the Vulcan for a moment before removing the pillow with a sigh.
“Listen Spock. I’m sorry. I have no idea what the hell came over me,” he said.
Spock shifted uncomfortably before answering. “Apologies are unnecessary. You were not in control of your actions.”
He was still standing there, and McCoy wasn’t sure what more needed to be said. He’d apologized. Spock had accepted in his way. Weren’t they finished now?
It took Spock another minute before he spoke again. “I should apologize,” he started. “While you were under the effects of a chemical induced lust, I was unaffected. I’m afraid that I took advantage of your altered state. I have not made a full report to the Captain yet, but if you feel the need to file a formal complaint about my actions, I will understand.” He was not making eye contact as he finished, and that was unusual enough that it took McCoy a moment to catch up with what had been said.
“Nah,” he said. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t know what else you could have done with me in that state.” He did actually. Spock could probably have just done that neck pinch thing and knocked him out. “No real harm done, right?”
Spock nodded slightly, and looked relieved, or at least somewhat less tense.
Later, McCoy wasn’t sure where he’d got the nerve from. He reached out and grabbed Spock’s hand. “Would you consider giving it another go sometime? Without the chemical induced lust.”
Spock stared down at their joined hands for a moment before twining their fingers together. “That would be acceptable.” He lingered for a moment, before pulling away. “I will go make my report to the Captain and let him know that you are recovering.”
McCoy could only smile as he settled in to go back to sleep. Alien sex pollen to get a date. Well, he’d heard of worse ways.
Still, maybe it would be a good idea to avoid away missions for awhile. Just in case.
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From:
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pornexplicit sex scenes isn't a forte, because you did a great job with this!I loved the way it became clear that Spock had been unaffected and was just helping McCoy out -- although I got the impression he hadn't considered it an onerous task! And I'm intrigued to know what Spock used for lube that he got a rash! :-)
From:
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Yeah, Spock wasn't exactly suffering by helping McCoy out. I pictured him going for something similar to an aloe plant - however, with his wacky hybrid physiology, he ended up being allergic, poor thing.
Thank you for your comment! I really appreciate you taking the time, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story.